


Batman: Case of the Serpent Society

by MisterMage



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Marvel
Genre: Action, Adventure, Batman Makes Mistakes, Batman Origin Story, Detective Batman, Early Batman, Mention of Superman - Freeform, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Realistic, Robots, Set in the late 50s, long fic, multi-chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2019-11-04 03:04:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17890319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisterMage/pseuds/MisterMage
Summary: WAYNE MANOR - June 1, 1958Shoots of grass grew in the cracks of the stone walkway leading to the  behemoth of a house that loomed over Jim Gordon, an average-sized man with an above average-sized mustache. Before him the front entrance of Wayne Manor, a monster of gothic architecture, was shaded by two trees on either side of the heavy, yet beautifully crafted, oak doors. He’d barely managed a single knock on those doors before Jim was greeted by a leathery faced old man in a suit who ushered him in.“Detective Gordon.” said the butler in his high english accent. His mustache was nowhere near the size of Jim’s, and what little hair he had atop his head was little more than a white semicircle running in a band behind his ears.“Nice to see you, Alfred.” replied Jim, stepping into the entrance hall, “Bruce wanted to see me?”“Yes, sir.” answered Alfred, who motioned to take Jim’s coat and hat. “I will let him know of your arrival at once.”“No need, Alfred!”  The voice of Bruce Wayne boomed across the hall as he strode up to Jim, sloppily parted black hair bouncing with every step.





	1. Chapter 1

My name is Bruce Wayne. When I was 8 years old, my parents and those of my friends were shot in an alley in front of our very eyes. That day, I swore to myself that I would stop the crime that took my parents from me. To do this, I devoted my life to honing my body and mind into becoming a weapon in which to fight evil. I am vengeance. I am the night. I. AM. BATMAN.

\-----

**WAYNE MANOR - June 1, 1958**

Shoots of grass grew in the cracks of the stone walkway leading to the behemoth of a house that loomed over Jim Gordon, an average-sized man with an above average-sized mustache. Before him the front entrance of Wayne Manor, a monster of gothic architecture, was shaded by two trees on either side of the heavy, yet beautifully crafted, oak doors. He’d barely managed a single knock on those doors before Jim was greeted by a leathery faced old man in a suit who ushered him in.

“Detective Gordon.” said the butler in his high english accent. His mustache was nowhere near the size of Jim’s, and what little hair he had atop his head was little more than a white semicircle running in a band behind his ears.

“Nice to see you, Alfred.” replied Jim, stepping into the entrance hall, “Bruce wanted to see me?”

“Yes, sir.” answered Alfred, who motioned to take Jim’s coat and hat. “I will let him know of your arrival at once.”

“No need, Alfred!” The voice of Bruce Wayne boomed across the hall as he strode up to Jim, sloppily parted black hair bouncing with every step.

“I’m glad you could make it,” said Bruce with a warm smile, clapping Jim on the shoulder as he led the way to the parlor, “How have you been?”

“Busy,” said Gordon, his mustache twitching slightly, the only real suggestion of a smile that almost formed.

He adjusted his square spectacles as they stepped into the warmly lit parlor.

“You didn’t just call me to talk about work, I hope?”

“No, of course not.”

Bruce motioned to one of the two squashy looking armchairs set before the ornate granite hearth of the fireplace. He busied himself at his liquor cabinet for a moment as Jim sank into the nearer of the chairs with a quiet sigh.

Bruce poured a drink from a half-empty decanter and offered the glass to Jim, who took it politely. He took a quick sip, savoring the burn of the alcohol.

‘ _Bruce Wayne knows his liquor,_ ’ Jim mused to himself.

“What have you been up to, Jim?” asked Bruce, sitting in the other chair with a soft smile. He sipped from his own drink, and let out a heavy sigh.

“Other than work? Nothing much.”

“Still a full-time detective then, eh?” Bruce chuckled. “It’s a shame. If I had my way, you’d be promoted to commissioner.”

“Commissioner Gordon…” Jim shook his head, a crooked smile mostly hidden beneath his mustache. “No, that’s not really my style.”

“Then what is?”

“I don’t know, being more...hands on, I guess. Detective work.”

“Wading through the grit and grime of Gotham then?”

“Yes, I guess you could say that.”

“Speaking of Gotham,” said Bruce, adjusting in his chair. “ What do you think of all these characters popping up?”

“Like that ‘Superman’ guy?”

“No, no, in Gotham.”

“Oh, those… characters. It’s a shame really, I know- knew- most of them. To see them lose their marbles…” Jim took another drink, looking soberly into the empty fireplace.

“And what about the vigilante?”

Gordon shook his head again. “Probably the nuttiest of them all, running around by himself in a ski mask like that. I’m sure he thinks he’s making a difference, but at best, he’s a nuisance to the criminals and the police.”

Bruce’s jovial smile dropped, though only for an instant, so quickly as a matter of fact that Jim thought it was a trick of the lamplight.

“Oh… Shame, I really thought he was doing some good out there.”

“Master Gordon,” interjected Alfred, cutting Jim off before he could begin a response to Bruce, “you have a telephone call.”

Jim walked to Alfred, who had the phone in his hand, and picked up the receiver.

”Gordon,” he answered gruffly. He fell silent, a scowl forming on his face as he visibly tensed.

“Yes. Of course. I’ll be there right away.”

Jim hung up the phone.

“I’m sorry, Bruce. I have to run.”

“Is everything okay?”

Jim shook his head.

“There was a murder at Marshall Lambert’s mansion.”

Bruce’s look of concern turned to shock.

“I understand. Of course.”

And with that, Jim ran off, the squeak of his shoes ringing in the hall, punctuated by the slam of the heavy oak doors.

Bruce’s face hardened, fingers clenching so hard around his glass that it threatened to shatter in his hand. He’d finished the imitation whiskey during their chat.

“He confirmed it, Alfred, I’m not making a difference.”

“Don’t say that, sir! Oh course you are.”

“Dammit, you heard him! ‘A nuisance at best!’”

Alfred sighed, “And exactly what are you going to do about it?”

“I need to make them fear me. They just see a man in a mask right now. I hoped that would be enough. But I’m going to have to be something more. A phantom. The monster that could be lurking around any corner.” There was a dark gleam of inspiration in his eyes.

“And I imagine that nothing I can say will change your mind, will it, sir? I even take it you’ve had a new costume prepared?”

Bruce smirked. “I don’t think I’d call it a ‘ _costume._ ’”

**LAMBERT’S MANSION - June 1, 1958**

Having sped through winding back roads, narrowly avoiding crashing the car repeatedly, Batman arrived the scene. He stepped out of the car, seeing the huge stone monstrosity off in the distance that was the Lambert Family mansion, the rotating blue and red lights of police cars crowded around it. Black cape trailing behind him, Batman began climbing a nearby tree. He needed a better vantage point.

Perching himself on one of the tree’s branches, Batman took a pair of binoculars from one of the leather pouches of his utility belt, using them to examine the mansion in the far off distance. He needed a way inside. With the police blocking the front entrance, the front door was a no go. A more creative approach would be required, it seemed. Eyes darting around the place, Batman’s eyes eventually fell on the eastern wall of the mansion that he would be able to scale unnoticed.

Batman leapt off the branch, spreading out his cape and gliding towards his desired location. Landing with a soft thud, he checked to make sure no one had seen him. No one had; the cops were probably eating donuts. Or, knowing Gotham, stuffing little valuables into their pockets. But he needed to stay on track. Pulling out his grappling hook, Batman shot it up, the hook burying itself in the stone wall of the mansion. The line pulled him up, hook detaching itself from the stone once he arrived on the roof. Sneaking over to an open skylight above where the investigation was going on, Batman peered in.

“So, you’re Philip Lambert,” asked Detective Gordon, “son of Marshall Lambert,correct?”

“Yes, of course I am, ” spat Lambert.

“Just making sure for the record, son,” said Gordon, perfectly calm.

It was obvious that he was in his element.

“Can you think of any reason why your father may have been killed?”

“No! Nothing that would have been taken seriously.”

“What do you mean, ‘taken seriously?” asked Gordon with a scowl.

“My father is… was, a powerful man. Death threats were a regular occurrence.”

The younger Lambert tensed up, eyes rolling down to the corner.

“And what were the latest death threats?”  
“Just some phone calls. He gets calls like that all the time, though. It’s the price of doing business. Nothing ever comes from them.”

“Well it seems something did this time.”

Gordon let out a heavy sigh.

“You said you witnessed the murder. Is there anything you can tell us?”

“I just saw some huge black bat...thing standing over my father’s body. It jumped out the window when I turned on the lights. I didn’t get a very good look at it.”

In the corner of the room, the phone rang, startling both Gordon and the witness.

Jim picked up the phone on the second ring.

“Hello?” he asked, “Jim Gordon, GCPD speaking.”

A panicked voice answered, though it was far too quiet for Batman to make out many words from where he was crouched.

“Sir, calm down, please,” said Jim gruffly, “Mr...Stryker, was it? No, I’m sorry, I can’t discuss ongoing investigations. Yes. Okay.”

Jim was writing something on a pad of paper.

Batman could just barely make out ’Alfred Stryker. Similar threats as victim. Possible susp.’

“Mr. Stryker,” Jim continued. “If you’ll give me your address, I’ll personally send someone to investigate. No, stay where you are. Lock the doors and windows, I’ll make sure my officers announce themselves.”

Batman leapt into action, jumping off the roof and gliding back to his car.

**STRYKERS MANSION - June 1, 1958**

Black boots stomped up the wooden stairs as Batman raced to save the life of Alfred Stryker. Time was of the essence. Arriving at a large wooden door, Batman kicked it in, the door making a muffled thud as it hit the carpet.

For an instant, Batman was able to take in the scene before him; the bat-like phantasm Philip Lambert had seen hovered above a very pale Alfred Stryker, knife in hand. Assailant and victim had both been surprised by the sudden appearance of Batman. But the shock was wearing off.

Batman sprung into action, leaping at the would-be assassin, but an instant too late. The old man let out a strangled sort of cry as the assailant plunged the knife into his chest.

Thunderous bootsteps rumbled up the stairs. The police. Gordon must have yelled so hard that he was red in the face to get them here this quickly. Batman grabbed at the phantasm’s grey cloak, which just barely slipped past his fingertips as they dove through the window.

“GCPD! Put your hands up!”

The voice belonged to Detective Gordon, who was pointing his gun at Batman.

Once again, Batman had an instant to take stock of the situation. Strike one: the police had just found him standing over Alfred Stryker’s still warm body. Strike two: he certainly matched the description that their only eyewitness had given. Strike three: he was about to mark himself as hostile.

With a practiced flick of his wrist, a batarang flew at Detective Gordon’s gun. Jim yelped as the razor sharp blade impacted hard enough to knock the gun out of his hand. Following up his throw, Batman threw down several white pellets which let out a *pop*, and instantly began filling the room with a cloud thick of smoke. He climbed out the window, ready to purse the phantasm.

Feeling the roof tiling underneath his boots, Batman started at the phantasm across from him, both of their capes billowing in the wind. The phantasm was clad simply, only wearing a torn grey cloak with the hood pulled up, a mask which appeared to have some sort of breathing unit attached, and a pair of black pants with boots.

“Who are you?” growled Batman.

“I believe the police are referring to me as a ...phantasm, no?” said the Phantasm. His voice was unearthly. Unsettling. And clearly being changed via an electronic modulator.

Whipping out his grappling hook, Batman shot it at the Phantasm, effortlessly puncturing their shoulder and sending them flying towards him. They reacted quickly though, using a knife to the cut the line, boots clapping against the tiled roof just out of Batman’s grasp. They threw the blade at Batman, who simply ducked to the side, narrowly avoiding it. With the distance closed, the two engaged each other, sending out a flurry of punches and kicks, trying to see whose defenses would break first.

It would be Batman’s.

Slashing at the caped crusader with clawed gloves, the Phantasm left several bloody gashes across his chest, making him growl in pain. Dazed from the pain, Batman staggered about, leaving himself vulnerable as his legs fell out from under him. Landing on his back, the Phantasm stood over him, blade in hand, ready to deliver the killing blow. Quickly wrapping his legs around his opponent, Batman heaved himself up onto the Phantasm and pushed down, effectively having reversed their situations.

Batman pinned the phantasm’s arms down with his legs as he pummeled the poor soul underneath him, looking to break the breathing apparatus. With his sights so focused on damaging it, he didn’t notice the Phantasm’s legs until it was too late. They wrapped around him in a headlock and twisted, sending him tumbling off.

Now with a bit of space between the two broken and bleeding combatants, the two took the momentary break to reevaluate their approaches.

“Why did you kill them?” asked Batman, his voice low and animalistic.

“Maybe money. Maybe it was personal. Maybe it was both. I doubt you’ll ever know.”

“Give me some time. I’ll find out.”

“Really? Because it really looks like you want me to kill you right here on this roof.”

“You’ll have to if you don’t want me coming after you.”

“Good point.”

The Phantasm disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Not letting his guard down, Batman looked around for where they could have went, turning just in time to catch the Phantasm trying to stab him with their claws. Twisting his opponents arm, Batman quickly had the Phantasm on their back, arm up and his foot holding them down at the shoulder, ready to break it if need be.

“Talk, or I break your arm.”

“It would be rather unfortunate for me if you did.”

Batman twisted their arm a bit. The Phantasm growled, their modulated voice almost garbling the sound into static.

“Ok, I get it!”

“Then talk.”

“Let me think about it. No.”

One of the Phantasm’s legs shot up, a blade shot out of the heel of their boot, and stabbing into Batman’s thigh, making him lose his grip, allowing his opponent to get out from under him.

In a single, simple motion, the Phantasm grabbed Batman, pulling him down onto the blade of a knife. Rolling Batman off of themself, the Phantasm watched as he struggled to get up, only to fall back down again, blood pooling around him.

With yet another cloud of smoke, the Phantasm disappeared, leaving Batman to die, alone, on the roof.


	2. Chapter 2

Note: Sorry, I was sick while writing this.

\-----

My name is Bruce Wayne. When I was 8 years old, my parents and those of my friends were shot in an alley in front of our very eyes. That day, I swore to myself that I would stop the crime that took my parents from me. To do this, I devoted my life to honing my body and mind into becoming a weapon in which to fight evil. I am vengeance. I am the night. I. AM. BATMAN.

\-----

**STRYKER’S MANSION - ROOF - June 1st, 1958**

‘ _This,_ ’ thought Batman, lying on the scalding hot roof tiles of Stryker’s mansion, feeling the skin on his back singe, ‘ _this would be a good death._ ’ He’d fought the phantasm tooth and nail, dealing as much punishment as he’d taken, but it wasn’t enough. He still failed to prevent Stryker’s murder. He still failed to catch the killer. Maybe, what Jim had said was right, maybe he wasn’t making a difference. And you know what, a small part of him wanted to believe it, the part that was looking for any excuse to abandon his crusade before it was to late. Before he died broken and alone in some dingy back alley of the city.

No, he had to be doing some good, right?

Like ice water through his veins, the need to prove himself shocked Batman back into action. _‘This…_ ’ thought Batman, dragging his pain addled body upright, ‘ _this would be a good death, but not good enough._ ’

Batman staggered to his feet, knees threatening to buckle at any instant, his head swimming from blood loss and the pain of broken bones. His movements had aggravated the gaping wounds in his stomach, though he was certain nothing critical had been punctured by sheer mermit of his guts not spewing forth, a small miracle it it’s own right. Batman grabbed at his cape, tearing it from his shoulders and, with the skill of a practiced battlefield medic, tied it round his midsection, the knot tight over the wound, pressure against which nearly made him blackout from shock. But the jolt was enough to give him precisely what he needed to survive, adrenaline.

He nearly fell from the roof as he clumsily climbed down, falling to his hands and knees, staining the grass with his blood. Batman stumbled away, making a line for his car that even a drunk wouldn’t call straight, but somehow he made it, falling into the seat of his car with a groan.

**GOTHAM CITY - CRIME ALLEY - June 1st, 1945**

The alley was dark and narrow, the bitter taste of stale air and the stink from the overfilled dumpsters permeated the place, the sole inhabitants of which were the rats. They scurried and squeaked about, wading through dirty puddles so they could dig through filth for a morsel of food that would never come. Suddenly, their movements stopped though, ears perking perking about and heads frantically whipping around the place. Someone was coming.

From the brightly lit theater across the street, the three young boys ran in circles around each other, giggling hysterically while they tried to catch each other in an odd game of tag, smiles wide and eyes bright, unburdened. Their families, the Oswalds, the Starks, and the Waynes, smiled at the sight of their playing children, so carefree and joyful, celebrating the 8th birthday of Bruce Wayne. At the insistence of an anxious birthday boy, they had all left early, taking a shortcut Thomas Wayne knew of.

“Haha!” laughed Tony Stark, jumping on the back of Bruce Wayne, “Happy birthday!”

“Ah, yes, happy birthday.” smiled Oswald Cobblepot.

**BANG.**

Instantly their hearts began to threaten to break out of their chest, the once jovial mood having ended in an instant. The boys whipped their heads around, terrified eye’s landing on a sleazy looking man in a trench coat, smoking gun in hand, standing over the body of Oswald’s father.

“Mother!” shouted Oswald, running to her side, standing protectively in front her, “You won’t hurt her.”

**BANG.**

Oswald dropped to the ground, his knee shattered beneath the fountains of blood spewing forth.

“J-just gimme the money!” trembled the man in the trench coat, pushing his greasy blonde hair from his face.

“It’s alright,” said Thomas Wayne, stepping forward with his hands raised, wallet in hand, “everyone stay calm.”

Thomas put some foot in front of the other, almost exaggerating his steps as he moved towards the mugger, holding out his wallet. The man eagerly went to grab it, fumbling it in his trembling hand till it dropped to the rain slick ground. The pair went down to grab it.

**BANG.**

The mugger had panicked, shooting Thomas without thinking.

As he laid there against the wet pavement of Crime Alley, blood pooling around him, Thomas clutched the hand of his now sobbing wife, doing his best to comfort her as the life faded from his eyes. Through her tears, Martha called her son over, wanting to hold him close. The boy obliged, clutching his onto his mother till his knuckles turned white.

Gun trembling in hand, the mugger pressed it against her chest, pearl necklace draping the weapon as it threatened her.

“Gimme your jewelry.”

From behind, Howard Stark grabbed the mugger, throwing him to the ground, his head cracking loudly against the pavement, and…

**BANG.**

He accidently fired the gun, bullet entering the gut of Martha Wayne, her body slumping to the ground, pearl necklace shattering and going everywhere, beads trailing blood as they rolled around.

**WAYNE MANOR - MASTER BEDROOM - June 2nd, 1958**

Beads of sweat rolled down Bruce’s face as he tossed and turned in the damp sheets of the masterfully crafted four post bed. Jutting up, eyes wide and alert, he looked around at his surrounding nervously. The nightmare was over. Suddenly becoming acutely aware of the white hot pain in his chest, Bruce flopped back down into bed, a exasperated sigh escaping his lips.

“I see you’re up, Master Bruce. How do you feel?” said Alfred.

“Like I was clawed at and stabbed in the back.”

“I’m surprised you even know what happened to you, given the thrashing you took.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Really, Master Bruce? Based on what?”

“My time in the league.”

“Ah, yes, I do recall you mentioning the ‘training’ you underwent with those bloody assassins.”

Alfred began to walk out, only to stop suddenly and turned around.

“I almost forgot, do you think you could stand by any chance, Master Bruce?”

“Why?”

“You have a visitor.”

“Gordon?”

“While they do both have red hair, sir, not quite.”

**WAYNE MANOR - LIVING ROOM - June 2nd, 1958**

Having thrown on a white button down shirt to cover up the bandages of his extensive injuries as well as a pair of pants, Bruce hobbled down the wooden stairs of Wayne Manor, clutching the railing as he tried to maintain some appearance of his usual swagger. With each movement, he felt his bones grind and muscles tense as they tried to keep him moving, fact being that it was a miracle he was upright at all. Spotting the person waiting for him down below, Bruce’s heart skipped a beat and his already tight grip on the railing began to splinter the wood. Andrea Beaumont.

“Andrea.” said Bruce to the beautiful redhead, doing his best to keep his voice neutral.

She turned to face him, graceful features beaming with excitement, “Hello, Bruce! So nice to see you!”

Bruce faked a smile, “You too.”

Trying to manage his usual playboy swagger, Bruce moved towards Andrea, giving her an awkward hug in his attempt to hide his wound. He accidentally knocked her purse out of her hands though, sending it tumbling to the ground and spilling it’s rather bountiful contents everywhere.

“I’m so sorry,” said Bruce, wincing as he bent down to pick up what he spilled, “just clumsy I guess.”

“You know, I can tell that you’re hurt, Bruce.”

“And how could you do that?

“You’re not exactly hiding it well.” smiled Andrea.

Bruce fumbled everything back into her back, though stopping once he saw a magazine called “The Serpent Society.”

“Since when do you like snakes?” asked Bruce.

Andrea’s jovial smile dropped, though only for the blink an eye and quickly picking up once against as she said, “Since forever. Guess there’s still some stuff you don’t know about me.”

“You’re right,” Bruce plopped down into one of the chairs before the fireplace rather unceremoniously, having now given up on his attempt to hide the fact that every movements sent needles through his body, “like why you left me for example.”

“Bruce…” said Andrea, sitting down in the chair next to Bruce.

“Yes, sorry, where are my manners.” chirped Bruce, though clearly not meaning it, “Where have you been?”

“Traveling the world.”

“Where in the world?”

“Europe… spent a lot of time in Asia.”

“You know, after you left, I went to Asia. Beautiful place. So many… *interesting* people to say the least. I learned a lot.”

“Like what?”

“How to deal with the pain.”

“Does it really still bother you that much?”

“Yes.”

Andrea shifted uncomfortably in her seat, “Then why didn’t you even try to stop me?”

Bruce’s eyes flared and he said, “Because! What would you do! Your fucking fiance for gods sake just up and leaves and gives you jack shit as to why!

“Master Bruce!” scolded Alfred.

Bruce’s face turned white as he began to apologize to Andrea, “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to… you know…”

“No, no it’s alright. It’s just that… I do feel guilty for what I did.”

“So then why’d you do it?” There was a sadness in his eyes.

“Because it was the right thing to do.”

“Andrea…”

“Stop. It’s alright. I shouldn’t have come here. I knew neither of us were ready for this.”

“Andrea, please…”

“Goodbye, Bruce.”

And with that, Andra ran off, click of her heels echoing in the hall and punctuated the slam of the large oak doors of the front entrance of Wayne Manor.

The table broke beneath Bruce’s fists, sending splinters everywhere and startling Alfred.

_LATER THAT NIGHT_

**GOTHAM CITY - LAMBERT’S MANSION - June 2nd, 1958**

Having sped through the winding back roads of Gotham in what he had come to call the “Bat-Mobile,” Batman arrived back at the dimly lit area surrounding the gothic stone monstrosity that was Lambert’s mansion. Gingerly stepping out of the car, still bruised and battered from his fight on the roof, Batman took note of the police car parked out front, seeming to be guarding a abandoned building. He theorized that the police had posted someone at the mansion in the event of burglars, or potentially the perp in their wet dream.

Under the cover of night, Batman expertly slipped through the shadows to the eastern mansion wall, as he had done so before. Whipping out his grappling hook, he threw it up, it landing snuggly on the mansion roof. Planting one boot clad foot on the wall, Batman began his attempt to scale the mansion’s side. One foot after the other, he struggled up the building, heaving and wheezing as he gritted his teeth, biting back the pain. It was to much though and Batman tumbled to the ground, landing squarely on his back, the wind knocked out of him. Picking himself back up, gasping air back into his lungs, Batman made a note to himself to upgrade his grappling hook with some sort of pulling feature. Perhaps, more like a grappling gun would suffice?

Casually leaning against the car door, shoving a snack he had brought into his face, John Blake chatted with his partner for the night, the pair making conversation from things ranging from how the city is “going to shit” to the latest ball game. Their pleasant talk was suddenly interrupted though by a thud in the distance.

“You hear that?” asked Officer John Blake.

“It’s nothing, kid.” replied his partner, taking a sip from his thermos.

“Well it could be something.”

“Animal at best.”

“We should go check it out.”

“Tellin’ you kid, it’s nothing.”

“Do we have anything better to do?”

“I got a dozen reasons in the back seat.”

John Blake shook his head and headed towards the noise.

“Hello?” he said, pausing for an answer, “Is someone there?”

He looked around, looking for some signs of life, eyes finding a grappling hook lodged into the roof of the mansion.

“Whoever you are,” said John, fumbling with his flashlight in an effort to turn it on, “you can’t be here.”

John shone it around, trying to find the would be intruder, not expecting to drag a man in a bat costume from the shadows and into the light. Without warning, the man lunged at him, bludgeoning his chin with the heel of his hand. Dazed and knocked off balance, John couldn’t reacted when the bat-man wrapped his arms around his neck, choking the life out of him.

Batman gently laid the cop on the soft bed of grass, pitying the man. He was only trying to do his job, but then again, so was he. Hearing the struggle, the cops friend came running, arthritic knees grinding as the man pushed himself onwards to see what was going on. Slowly unholstering his gun, the cop’s friend stepped forwards, expecting to find some burglar looking to score big time, though greeted by the same way his comrade fell, a pair of arms wrapping around him, the air squeezed out.

While the guards may be incapacitated, giving Batman the clear to enter the mansion, he had not planned on this. He was supposed to in and out without anyone noticing, now he had two bodies lying around, marking he was there.

Entering into the gothic monstrosity, Batman began his search for evidence potentially linking the two murders. It was certainly no coincidence the two friends were killed by the same person on the same day.

_45 minutes later_

Nothing. Absolutely nothing linking the two murders beyond the obvious. No letters. No journal entries. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Hell, the only thing out the ordinary was some stupid magazine named “The Serpent Society.”

Remembering that Andrea had the magazine from earlier in the day, Batman flipped it open, scanning over the many articles, curious as to it’s contents. He found nothing out of the ordinary, until he came to the editorial that is. It was clever, but he was cleverer. Hidden in the last page of the magazine, Batman found a hidden message, or messages that is. They were all alarming to say the least, talking about the world renowned assassin named “The Phantasm” killing their members and what not, but it was the last one that startled him the most, sending a chill down his spine.

**HAIL HYDRA**

“THIS IS DETECTIVE JIM GORDON OF THE GCPD! WILL THE BAT-MAN COME OUT WITH HIS HANDS ON HIS HEAD! WE HAVE THE PLACE SURROUNDED!”

Shit.


	3. Chapter 3

My name is Bruce Wayne. When I was 8 years old, my parents and those of my friends were shot in an alley in front of our very eyes. That day, I swore to myself that I would stop the crime that took my parents from me. To do this, I devoted my life to honing my body and mind into becoming a weapon in which to fight evil. I am vengeance. I am the night. I. AM. BATMAN.

\-----

He’s hurt.

He’s surrounded.

But he’s not afraid.

\-----

**GOTHAM CITY - LAMBERT’S MANSION - June 2nd, 1958**

_Inside the mansion…_

‘ _The damn officers must have woken up!_ ’ thought Batman.

Heart thumping out of his chest, Batman’s mind raced for a solution to the problem at hand. He was surrounded on all sides by the GCPD and his friend, Detective Jim Gordon, was screaming for “The Bat-Man” to come out with his hands on his head. Needless to say, things were not looking good. Even though he had trained under what were unquestionably the best, most experienced teachers in the world in the martial arts, Batman still couldn’t simply walk out right into the open and fight several SWAT teams, all armed to the teeth, as much as he may have wanted to.

You know maybe, just maybe, Batman could do as his dear friend was screaming. Right now, he could come out with his hands on his bat-eared head and not be littered with bullet holes. Sure he would be surrendering himself to the law that thought him a murderer. Sure he will have failed his mission before it even really began. But you know what? The charges wouldn’t stick once they found out he was who he was. Maybe he’d be thrown into Arkham Asylum, but he could pull some strings and get himself out of there. He could live the rest of his life as Bruce Wayne, well feed, happy. Maybe even be with Andrea, now that she was back.

For a moment, just a fleeting, insular moment, Batman let his shoulders slump, giving into the fantasy that deep down, perhaps what he really wanted, but at the end of day, still let a child watch their parents he brutally murdered in front of their eyes. ‘ _No, never again,_ ’ thought Batman, eyes snapping back from their lull, ‘ _will a kid have to cry over the bloodied bodies of their parents. Not while the goddamn Batman is around._ ’

‘ _Remember your training…_ ’ thought Batman, trying to recall the words of wisdom of his many masters, ‘ _Theatricality. Deception. These are tools that let one man engage a hundred. The tools that make him something more in the mind of his enemy._ ’ For how they left things off, Batman could not deny the impact the training of Ra's al’ Ghul had had on him. Especially right now, as he was about to take a page right out of Ras’s handbook. 

Running around the mansion, Batman looked for various odds and ends in which to rig a series of traps at the entrance of the mansion. Since he couldn’t fight his way through the SWAT teams surrounding the place, he needed a way to level the playing field, which in this case meant waiting around till one of the teams came into the building and having them walk into a series of traps. Grabbing a set of knives from the kitchen as well as bags of flour and a few ropes, Batman began to set his plan into motion… 

_Outside the mansion, 30 minutes later…_

The police sirens roared around the monstrosity that was the Lambert family mansion, pulsating blue and red lights casting their glow to the surrounding area, reflecting in the windows. Taking cover behind the squad cars, police officers had their guns fixated on an enemy that would never appear, the “Bat-Man” as they were _affectionately_ calling him. Suspected in the murder of two of Gotham’s wealthiest, the mayor had made it a priority to bring the mad man to justice. At least, Gotham’s version of justice, which didn’t really know what the word meant, to say the least.

Taking a deep breath of the cold, nighttime air, Detective Jim Gordon yelled into his microphone, “THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING! COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!”

At this point he knew it was pointless, the “Bat-Man” wasn’t going to come quietly. Glancing around him, Jim took stock of the rather generous force he had been granted, all for just another crazy murderer in Gotham. While he was glad for the detail and how much easier it would make his job, Jim only took it as yet another sign of corruption in the city, something that would be considered a textbook case of metal gymnastics by any rational, sane person, but not to him. No, he’d seen the way the elite in this city acted, the filth they had their hands plunged into. If someone was targeting them, regardless of whether or not it was intentional, they were damn sure going to respond in overwhelming force.

Taking his walkie-talkie from his belt, Jim radioed, “SWAT team one, you are clear to go. And please, don’t wreck the place.”

“Copy that, Gordon.”

Leaping out the armored truck, the heavily armed men jogged towards the front doors of the mansion, jiggling the door handle to try and open it. When it did not yield to them, a more… direct approach was tried. One of the officers shot in the lock, bullet splintering the expense wood around it. Kicking in the doors, the team turned on their flashlights, automatic guns held up against their shoulders, eyes wide. 

_Inside the mansion…_

One foot in front of the other, tip-toeing carefully through the entrance, footsteps sending creaks along the hardwood floors, the men kept their eyes, and guns, primed for any sign of movement. 

“You know, they say this bat guy has got wings.” whispered one of the men.

“And claws too.” replied another.

“So why do you think he killed those percenters?”

“Don’t know. Ask me though, he’s doin’ us all a favor. You ever had the displeasure of talking to one of ‘em?”

“No."

“I’ve run guard duty for some of ‘em. Death threats you know. Of course we get sent out to guard ‘em ‘cuz they demanded it. Some of the snobbiest ass holes I’ve had the displeasure of-- AHHH!”

Nine left.

Everyone whipped their heads around, adrenaline instantly pumping through their veins as they looked for where their teammate had gone. 

“Group up,” ordered the commander, “don’t let him pick us off one by one.”

With the precision that only comes from years of practice, the SWAT team huddled up in a circle, each member facing out, gun scanning for a target that was playing it smart. A dangerous target that was playing it smart. Suddenly, the air filled with flour, obscuring their vision and filling their lungs, coughing as a feeble attempt to remove the foreign substance.

Eight left.

Seven left.

Six left.

The flour cleared from the air, the remaining men left with the sight of the bodies of their comrades missing from the field of battle. They weren’t afraid before, but they are now. 

Bursting from behind, bits of drywall flying all over the place, a pair of arms emerged, catching one of the officers, his gurgling sounds filling the room and he was violently dragged into the abyss.

Five left.

“Holy shit, man!”

“Keep it together.”

“We’re all gonna die, aren’t we?”

“Not if--”

A black cloak drifted down in front of them.

“It’s him!”

They all opened fire, littering the man with enough bullets to kill an elephant ten times over. When they thought he was properly dead, a brave volunteer crept up to check out the body. Kneeling down, he found only a black blanket. They’d been tricked.

A men’s legs instantly fell out from underneath him as the “Bat-Man” assaulted him, first sweeping the legs and then following up with strike to the trachea, causing him to gasp for air as it was robbed of him.

Four left.

Mustering all his remaining speed, bullet fire whizzing past, Batman hurried to his next target, lashing out with a blow that cracked their face mask and simultaneously, with a practiced flick of the wrist, unleashing several batarangs onto another SWAT member, only for them to clang helplessly against the bullet proof vest. The same officer that had had his face mask cracked by Batman, came up behind him, wrapping his arms around and pulling back, exposing his belly for a clear shot. Quickly, reaching down into his utility belt, Batman let loose a choking pellet, the room quickly filled with a gas that strangled everyone who breathed it in. The officer's grip on Batman now loose as he entered a coughing fit, Batman took the opportunity to shove a batarang into his side, following it up with a kick to his knee that instantly shattered it.

Three left.

Staggering about, waving his hands around as to fan the gas away from him, Batman made his way to the wall, breathing heavily as he slumped down against it, trying to find a brief respite from what was proving to be a grueling fight. So far, he hadn’t been hurt, due not to his physical prowess, as powerful as it may be, but rather his playing it smart, lurking in the shadows and jumping out. Becoming something more in the mind of his enemy. Becoming a monster that could be lurking in every shadow. Just like he was taught. He had to keep it up though, as physically draining as it may be, as one blow to any of his many stitches and they would burst, letting forth what would surely be a fountain of blood. As a matter of fact, Batman considered himself lucky for them having not broken after he took that fall. The gas began to clear, the fight ready to begin anew.

Finally freed from their coughing fit, eyes now red and swollen from the lack of oxygen, the three remaining SWAT officers dragged their weary bodies up from the ground, attempting to apprehend their target. From his position on the ground, Batman took a deep breath and darted up, trying to gain the advantage before his opponents could ready themselves. Hands wrapping around one of the men’s throat, Batman choke slammed him to the ground, something that would prove to have exerted too much of his dwindling reserves. For the briefest second, Batman paused, hands falling to his knees as he tried to catch his breath, though it was long enough for him to knocked to ground with the butt of one of the officers guns.

Helpless on the ground, Batman began to be pummeled by the three remaining men, one of which had picked himself back up after be slammed down. Curling up, legs held tight against his chest and his arms shielding his head, he tried to weather the beating being dealt to him. Blow after blow, the men threatened to break bone, or worse, open up an old wound. His costume offering no protection, it being nothing more than fabric, his body eventually gave in, bone fracturing underneath the powerful blows.

Roaring like an animal, Batman burst up from his near fetal position, a newfound adrenaline rush rocketing through his veins and culminating in a primal roar, the officers stepping back in fear. With a practiced flick of his, as of yet, unfractured wrist, Batman landed a batarang in the gun of one of the officers, rendering it useless as it flew out of his hand. In a single, spinning motion, Batman simultaneously kicked the gun out of another officers hand, and grabbed the gun from the only one left, wasting no time in breaking it across the officers face, sending bits of blood and tooth flying.

Now thoroughly disarmed, Batman and his opponents stood off against each other, both sides bruised and bleeding. Breathing heavily, Batman stared them down, trying to devise the best ways to incapacitate them. He could tackle the middle one, get him down to the ground quickly, but then he’d just be jumped on by the other two and this time, he wasn’t sure he could get back up. Maybe he could go all the way to side, take one of them down. No, then he’d just run into the same problem. A dark gleam of inspiration flashed in Batman’s eyes as an idea popped into his head.

Taking out his grappling hook, Batman flung it at the officer standing directly in front of him, the hook plunging itself into his shoulder and then followed by a powerful pull from Batman, sending the poor man flying into the ground, his face mask and shoulder thoroughly shattered.

Two left.

One foot in front of the other, Batman stepped closer and closer to the men before him, both of which were quivering as the menacing figure of the “Bat-Man” inched closer. Now towering over them, both men threw feeble punches at Batman, only for him to catch each, twisting until he felt their wrists shatter. Taking one of the men’s arms, he broke it, pushing him onto the ground and stomping on his knee until he shattered it, just to make it clear for him not to get back up.

Turning to last remaining officer, Batman growled, “You… you’ll do nicely.”

_Outside the mansion…_

“No! No! Oh my god no! Please! Don’t!”

The man clawed at the hand dangling him over the edge of the mansion, for what reason, he didn’t know. If the “Bat-Man” dropped him, he’d plummet down to the ground below, the exact fate he was trying to avoid. Perhaps then, it was merely a instinctual response fueled by the panic wracking his body.

He tried to sputter out a few words, “P… please! Do… n’t _ugh_ … drop me!”

Thud.

A sharp howle escaped his lips as he dented the roof of a police car with his fall, shattering the blinking red and blue sirens on top. Immediately, several paramedics rushed to the screaming officer, Jim followed close behind.

“Are you alright?!” shouted one of the paramedics, shining a flashlight in his eyes.

“I’m… I fine.” moaned the officer.

“What happened in there!?” asked Jim Gordon.

“We went in… then… then, oh my god. He picked us off one by one, sir. There was so much blood. Pretty sure he ripped Taylor’s arm off!

Jim’s eyes widened.

“Someone get the hell in there! We might be able to save a few!”

One of the paramedics tapped Jim on the shoulder.

“Uh, sir, we found this on him. Just thought you should know. We think it’s for you.”

Jim took the note in hands, “Don’t come after me.” he read, a scowl coming over his face and eyes filling with rage as he crumpled the paper and threw it as far as his old arms would allow.

**GOTHAM CITY - WAYNE MANOR - SECRET ROOM - June 3rd, 1958**

There was much more to Wayne Manor than meets-the-eye. Underneath the gothic fortress lay an elaborate and extensive cave system, home to thousands, if not millions, of bats. There were also the many secret rooms of the mansion, one of which, Bruce had modified to be his base of operations, housing the plethora of equipment at his disposal in his endeavors as Batman.

Sitting at the large desk before him, Bruce studied the magazine he had taken from Lambert’s mansion, trying to decrypt the many hidden texts scattered throughout the magazine. The method used to hide the messages wasn’t particularly complex, at least for someone of Bruce’s calibur, but regardless, they did take a while to decrypt, much to Alfred’s joy. At last, a brief break for Bruce’s aleiling body.

‘ _Just move this letter here… now this… and here we go!_ ’ thought Bruce, leaning back in his chair, ‘ _Attention members of our illustrious organization! The world renowned mercenary, the Phantasm, has continued to kill our sitting council members. Thankfully, I myself have yet to be targeted. As a sitting council member, I request a gathering of the remaining council at the Grand Gotham Hotel at 11pm to discuss our next step in this incredibly pressing situation. Hopefully, we will be able to lay out a plan to deal with this before we are all killed! Signed, Andrea Beaumont, councilwoman._ ’

Bruce’s eyes widened in shock, a guttural roar coming from deep inside him as he lashed out against his desk, pummeling it with his fists until it broke. 

“Alfred!” shouted Bruce.

“Yes, master Bruce?” asked Alfred, arriving at the entrance to the room.

Bruce threw the translation at Alfred’s feet, who bent down to pick it up.

“Oh heavens my… Hydra is still active?”

“It does seem that way.”

“But how? How could they have survived Captain America?”

“I don’t know.”

“And Andrea, my god, why would she join them?"

“She didn’t join them.”

“Master Bruce, it says --”

“She isn’t one of them, Alfred!

“Then, if I may ask, why do you say that, sir?”

“Because I just know.”

“Assuming you did not make any mistakes in your translation, sir, the evidence is irrefutable.”

“Then I must have made some mistake.”

Bruce sunk into his seat before the remnants of his desk, his hand covering his face as he leaned against the arm of the chair.

“She couldn’t have joined them, Alfred, can she?”

Alfred kneeled down next to Bruce, placing his hand on his knee.

“If she did, sir, there must be a very good reason for it.”

A tear rolled down Bruce’s cheek.

“That has to be why she came to me, Alfred, for help. And look how I treated her. I should have known!”

“There is no way you _could_ have known, sir.”

“No, no… I should have! I was going to marry her for god's sake god damn it!”

“Master Bruce, if you may, let me ask you this. She has a secret, a very precious, dangerous secret, and so do you. If you had to, for some reason, reveal to her that you are Batman, would you? Or would you take the first chance you get to run away?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Bruce stood up, his once sorrow expression concealed by a now harded face, a mask in which to hide his pain.

“I’m going out.”

“You can’t, you’re still far too hurt.”

“I have to. If Hydra is still active I have to do something.”

“You’re not Superman, master Bruce. You can’t take on Hydra all by yourself, especially not in your condition. Need I remind you of the gashes on your chest? The stab wound in your gut and back? Or maybe even your fractured ribs? You have… limits, sir. You can’t leap tall buildings in a single bound. Bullets don’t bounce off your chest, as you’ve become very well aware.”

“All men have limits. They learn what they are and learn not to exceed them. Batman isn’t a man.”

“But Bruce Wayne is, sir.”

“I’m leaving, Alfred, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. I’m not a kid anymore.”


	4. Chapter 4

My name is Bruce Wayne. When I was 8 years old, my parents and those of my friends were shot in an alley in front of our very eyes. That day, I swore to myself that I would stop the crime that took my parents from me. To do this, I devoted my life to honing my body and mind into becoming a weapon in which to fight evil. I am vengeance. I am the night. I. AM. BATMAN.

\-----

He almost gave up.

He was almost happy.

But tragedy struck again.

\-----

**GOTHAM CITY - ROAD - June 3rd, 1958**

_Right now…_

Batman gripped the steering wheel of the Batmobile tightly, knuckles white as he sent the vehicle twisting and turning through the narrow and worn backroads of Gotham on his way to the city. Here he was alone, left with nothing but the wide open road and the roar of the engine as it barreled along. And most importantly, he was left with his thoughts. Thoughts that were swarming with questions of “what if” and “how” and “why?” What if Andrea never left him? How did she join Hydra? Why did she leave him? The questions roared in Batman’s mind almost as loud as the engine that was being pushed to its limits, uncomfortably close to bursting into flames, ending before it could really ever begin.

**GOTHAM CITY - WAYNE MANOR - BRUCE’s BEDROOM - June 1st, 1955**

_Back then…_

The morning light shown on the the pair of lovers laid intertwined under the messy sheets of the four-post bed, their scantily clothed bodies barely concealed. They looked content, at ease in each other's arm. Happy. The man began to stir, coming to slow waking as he blinked the crust from his eyes. Greeted by the sight of the beautiful woman next to him, he smiled, giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead before carefully untangling his body from hers. Standing up, he looked out the large window before him, the thin layer of sweet coating his body glistening in the sunlight, emphasizing his well-defined, muscular body. Cracking his… everything, he dropped down to the ground and began to do push ups, beginning what would be considered an unusual morning routine for the eighteen year old billionaire, Bruce Wayne.

Up. Down. Up. Down. Bruce performed the exercise effortlessly, only stopping when his grunts began to wake his lover, Andrea Beaumont. Rolling to the side of the bed, she hung her head over the edge and said…

“No morning cuddles, babe?”

Bruce stared at her, not quite sure what to say.

“It’s alright,” she smiled, “just go make some breakfast to make up for it. I’ll be right down.”

He smiled, giving her a quick peck on the cheek before leaving.

**GOTHAM CITY - WAYNE MANOR - KITCHEN - June 1st, 1955**

_Back then…_

The smell of sizzling bacon filled the kitchen as Alfred dutily prepared breakfast for Bruce and Andrea. Unfortunately, Bruce had… failed to cook the food, to put it nicely, with Alfred having to step in before his kitchen was completely obliterated. However, though he may have lacked the cooking prowess of his butler, Bruce did still try to make himself useful, putting bread in the toaster, fetching milk from the front stoop, and setting the table, to name but a few things, all in his underwear to boot.

“Bruce.” Andrea called, entering the bustling kitchen clad in a silk robe, holding a pair of clothes in her hands, “Here, catch.”

She tossed him the clothes, Bruce fumbling them through his fingers as he tried to catch them, though ultimately dropping them in the ketchup he had just set on the table.

“Aw man.” whined Bruce, wiping the condiment from his shirt, “Alfred, how do you get rid of ketchup stains?”

“Run the stain under cold water from the backside, sir. Then with soapy water, gently rub the stain and finish with a soak in cold water for at least ten minutes.”

“Oh… um… okay… I got this.”

“Here, let me take that, silly.” said Andrea, giggling as she took Bruce’s shirt and began to wash it in the sink adjacent to Alfred.

“Mistress Andrea, please, let me handle it.” said Alfred.

“No, no Alfie, I can do it. Besides, you’re still cooking.”

“The food is nearly done. Please, go sit with Bruce and enjoy yourself. He just finished setting the table.” insisted Alfred.

“If you insist.”

She took a seat across from Bruce, who was reading the morning paper.

“Remember Jeremiah Valeska, Andrea? Well, Jim just took him down. Glad to see that guy go after all the trouble he’s caused. Plus, I think it’s second arrest this week.”

“I’m assuming you’re referring to Jim Gordon?”

“Correct.”

“Then yes, it’s his second this week. You know, you still haven’t told me how you know him so well.”

Bruce shifted in his seat, eyes rolling downwards.

“Oh, did I hit a soft spot? Bruce, I--”

“No, no, it’s alright.” said Bruce, leaning back in his chair, “The night my parents died, Jim was the detective called to the scene. As a matter of fact, I think it was his first case in the city. He… uh, did his best to comfort me, put his coat around me and what not. He tried to make all of us feel better, as much as Tony insisted he was fine.”

Bruce forced a laugh.

“Oswald was a wreck though. So… yah, when Tony moved away from Gotham and Oswald went to live in England, I was the only one left in the city. Jim visited me often, kept me apprised on the case.”

Bruce’s nails began to dig into the table, leaving small marks.

“He never did find the killer. We kept in touch though. I’m not going to lie, he’s like another father to me.”

“Well well… isn’t that a surprising amount of emotional self-awareness!”

Bruce smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Standing up, Andrea made her way over to Bruce, taking a seat on his lap and nuzzling up to him.

“I know how hard it is for you, Bruce, to talk about your past. I’m proud of you.” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Hey, you wore the ring.” smiled Bruce, noticing the engagement ring he had given her on her finger.

“Why yes I did.”

Alfred set the food on the table.

“Alfred,” asked Bruce, “why don’t you join us?”  
  
“It’s not my place, sir. Besides, I ate earlier in the morning.”

Bruce took a mound of eggs from one of the bowls Alfred had set out.

“Well then let's dig in!”

_After breakfast…_

Standing in the warmth of the morning light, Bruce and Alfred saw Andrea off as she was picked up by her butler. The pair waved as she entered the car, only stopping when she passed the gates.

“You know, Master Bruce, I can not express how happy I am for you.”

“What do you mean, Alfred?”

“Look around. You have a beautiful fiance, your demeanor has vastly improved, you’re happy, and most importantly, you’ve given up on that godforsaken idea of a mission you have.”

“I haven’t given up on it Alfred.”

“Oh really?” smirked Alfred, “Well then, when was the last time you’ve gone out for one of your ‘experiments’?

“Probably just before I met, Andrea.”

“And I rest my case, sir.”

“I haven’t… I just… I’m doubting it, Alfred. I know my parents would want me to avenge them but… I never thought I would ever be… happy.”

Bruce gave a weary smile.

**GOTHAM CITY - ACROSS FROM THE GRAND GOTHAM HOTEL - GARGOYLE - June 3rd, 1958**

_Right now…_

Having sped through the winding back roads of Gotham in order to get to the city, Batman arrived at his location, the Grand Gotham Hotel. Parking the Batmobile in a nearby alley, he used his recently invented grappling gun to rocket himself up the side of a nearby building, sending him high above the bustling streets below. Perched on one of the buildings many gargoyles, and one of Gotham’s many gargoyles for that matter, Batman peered through the windows of the Grand Gotham Hotel with a pair of binoculars, eyes darting about as he searched for the room the meeting was being held in.

**GOTHAM CITY - THE GRAND GOTHAM HOTEL - MEETING ROOM - June 3rd, 1958**

_Right now…_

Leaning against the outer glass wall of the room, Andrea eyed everyone carefully, shoulders tense and brow furrowed. You know for a secret, cult-like organization, Hydra certainly didn’t present itself in the way you may think, and this meeting was certainly evidence of that. Everyone dressed as if they were young, stupid socialites, making idle conversations as they sipped on champaign and laughed their prim and prissy laughs. It was incredibly annoying, to say the least. Maybe they were just overcompensating, or trying to project a strength they didn’t have? After all, after Hydra’s supposed “defeat” at the hands of Captain America, though in actuality it took the entire Justice Society of America, the organization had been forced underground, certainly putting a major damper on the recovery of Hydra.

The bell rung, signaling the beginning of the meeting. Everyone made their way to their prescribed seats at the table, of which was shaped like a half circle.

“First order of business,” said Andrea, taking her seat, “as you can see, since the last time we met, councilmen Marshall Lambert and Alfred Stryker have been killed. Their loss is saddening to us, but we must persevere. As you know, I called this meeting to discuss ways to protect ourselves from the Phantasm, whatever shape that may take.”

“Let’s hire Deathstroke! Have him kill this murderer!” shouted a councilman.

“No, no, Deathstroke is currently out on contract.” said a councilwoman.

“Deadshot then!” yelled another councilman.

“Also out on contract.”

“If we want to hire someone, Crossbones has done good work for us in the past,” said Andrea, chiming in, “However, I don’t believe that is the best course of action to take care of this situation… permanently.”  
  
“What do you mean?”

“The Phantasm is a mercenary, lets not forget that. Someone has to have hired them to kill our members.”

“And…?”

“And what I’m proposing is that we move forward with the Grand Plan. If we make a strong show of force, show them that we’re not weak, that we still have resources, whoever hired them should back off.”

“The chances of that working…”

“God damn it!” shouted Andrea, a fire in her eyes, “Do you have any better ideas or do you have a fetish for dying!?”

“I… well… uh…”

“Exactly.”

“Councilwoman, if I may, the logistics of enacting a plan that _grand_ , completely intentional pun by the way, are astronomical. As much as it pains me to say this, I don’t think we have the resources to pull it off.”

“We have the equipment, we have the men for that equipment, I don’t see the problem.”

“You’re relatively new still, councilwoman, you’ve only been here for what, a few years, so I’m going to be gentle… You don’t know what you don’t know. We’ve had this plan for years! Hell decades! And we’ve never gone through with it! There are simply far too many obstacles in our way to warrant such a thing. It would be a sheer act of desperation.”

“And here we are, desperate, dropping like flies. Councilman, if there was ever a time for a desperate act, it’s now.”

Without warning, the skylight above their heads came crashing down, raining glass on all below as a cloaked figure emerged.

The Phantasm.

**GOTHAM CITY - BEAUMONT MANSION - MASTER BEDROOM - June 1st, 1955**

_Back then…_

Old people have a smell. And so do dying people. What do you get when you put those two things together? The stench of the room Andrea’s father was in. It seeped into the soft-wooden paneling, making it so the smell would never go away, a constant and unending terror on the nostrils that made everyone who entered gag. Months ago, Maxwell Beaumont fell seriously ill, becoming bedridden in a matter a days as the illness sapped the life out of him. Needless to say, things were not looking good for him, as much as he may have liked to deny it. His body was ravaged by the disease, his skin drawn across his face and eyes sunken so far in that they seemed to disappear. In an odd way, it was a sight to behold, that a man could balance on the knife’s edge of death for so long and not stumble over one way or the other.

Right beside him, Andrea kneeled, resting her head next to her father’s body.

“How’re you feeling today, daddy?” she asked.

“No different from yesterday, which is good.”

“I mean… sure. I’d love to hear that you were feeling better though.”

“Then I’m feeling better, sweety.”

“I don’t think it works like that.”

“In this case, honey, for you it does.”

Andrea smiled.

“I wish that was always the case.” she sighed.

“Oh not on about this again. Baby, I’m not forcing you to do anything.”

“I know… but…”

“It’s alright, I understand. Hell, I was the same way even. You don’t want to be tied down to something, in this case Hydra, you’re not sure about but you also feel the need to honor your father’s wishes.”

“You’re leaving something out. The biggest reason, as a matter of fact.”

“Yes, you would need to leave Bruce.”

“There we go.”

“But it’d only be temporary! You could go back to him!”

“Years after though! He wouldn’t want me back by that point.”

“And you know what, sweetie, if you two are truly in love, then that shouldn’t matter. If you’re doubting that, maybe you two are not meant to be.”

“I… I… maybe you’re right.”

“Listen, I want you to be happy and I know being with Bruce makes you happy, which is why I’m not forcing this on you. Now aren’t you going to the fair with Bruce soon?”

“Uh, yes actually.”

“Well that’s good, he’s a fine young man. You should go get ready.”

“Okay, daddy.”

**GOTHAM CITY - GOTHAM CITY FAIR - June 1st, 1955**

_Back then…_

Underneath the brilliant blue sky dotted with clouds, a rare sight for Gotham, people funneled their way towards the Gotham City Fair, braving the sweltering heat of early summer for the promise of fun. Even blocks away from the main entrance, the bright colors and sounds of the fair overwhelmed the senses, a testament to the thriving city, one of the jewels of America. Getting closer, the sounds of laughing and screaming children came into earshot, though still faint due to the myriad of sounds emanating from the fair.

Inside the fairgrounds, all types of people bustled about, ranging from parents trying in vain to hold onto their ecstatic children, bouncing off the walls from sheer excitement, to the elderly arriving in droves from the senior center. The main attraction of this years fair was the world renowned Haley’s circus, of which Andrea was eager to attend, pulling Bruce along.

“Come on, Bruce!” she said, dragging him by the sleeve to the circus tent, “I want to see the Flying Graysons!”

“No need to drag me though.” said Bruce, trying to suppress his laughter as they entered the circus tent.

**GOTHAM CITY - GOTHAM CITY FAIR - HALEY’S CIRCUS - June 1st, 1955**

_Back then…_

The pair took their seats underneath the sweltering heat of the tent, all the hot air trapped in it’s confines making it so everyone figgitted around and squirmed as they tried to get comfortable in the unpleasant conditions, only exacerbated by the crowd of people that everyone was surrounded by.

A few minutes passed and the show began.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” boomed a voice from behind the curtain, “Boys and girls! Welcome to the one, the only, Haley’s Circus!”

The heavy curtains flew open and let forth a wide array of colors and sounds and oddities that flooded the senses, sending the crowd into a roar of applause and laughter that made Bruce tense up, his unease at being surrounded by everyone only increased once they began to yell. Andrea stood up and cheered along with everyone, whistling at what she was seeing. She motioned for Bruce to do the same, who politely declined, opting to stay seated.

“Our first show for you fine Gothamites is one of our best! The one! The only! Flying Graysons!”

From within the blob in the center of the ring the performers had congregated into came the Flying Graysons themselves, a family of three, who as a matter of fact, bared some resemblance to Bruce’s own. All of them smiled wide as they waved to the crowd, the boy most of all. The rest of the performers dissipated, leaving only the family.

“The show is about to start, Bruce!” smiled Andrea.

The family climbed the tall wooden posts situated on either side of the ring, taking their positions as they readied themselves to begin.

“And now” shouted the ringleader, “let the show begin!”

On queue the trio began their routine, flipping and twirling in the air effortlessly, all without a net to boot. The crowd ooed and awed at the grace of the performers, especially the little boy, who was mighty impressive for his age, keeping up with his far more experienced parents as he smiled wide underneath the mess of black hair that covered his face. Dick Grayson sure was impressive.

**GOTHAM CITY - ACROSS FROM THE GRAND GOTHAM HOTEL - GARGOYLE - June 3rd, 1958**

_Right now…_

Batman crouched down atop the stone gargoyle, gazing through his binoculars, ankles sore from being in the same position for so long. He felt the typical rain of Gotham make his costume heavy, sticking itself to his person giving no relief from the chill it created. He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore it. All the sudden he saw the Phantasm crash into the room where Hydra was meeting, eyes widening as he lept into action, swigging across the gap between buildings.

“Look!”

“Up in the sky!”

“It’s a bird!”

“It’s a plane!”

“No, it’s…! not Superman.”

“Man, I got so excited.”

“Hello? Police? I want to report a sighting of the “Bat-Man.”

**GOTHAM CITY - GRAND GOTHAM HOTEL - MEETING ROOM - June 3rd, 1958**

_Right now…_

“No! No! Please don’t hurt us!” cried one of the council members.

“Your angel of death has come.” said the Phantasm, his modulated voice garbling the words till they came out as unpleasant as nails on a chalkboard.

The Phantasm slowly crept towards the quivering socialites that called themselves the leaders of Hydra, raising his clawed hand to deliver the first of many killing blows. Suddenly, Batman crashed through the outer glass wall of the room, sending bits of glass everywhere as be landed in a three-point stance, sheets of rain beginning to pour into the room.

“Batman.” croaked the Phantasm, turning to face him.

Without warning, Batman charged the would be assassin, who was caught off guard by the sheer intensity of the attack. Cracking, his head against the floor as he was tackled to the ground, a sound came from the Phantasm, something that could only be described as the wind being knocked out of him.

“I’m not going to make the same mistake again.” growled Batman, “This time, no questions. I’m just going to break you.”

Batman picked the Phantasm up by the neck, squeezing, savoring the feeling of the air being strangled out of his opponent.

“No… _heh_ … please…” gurgled the Phantasm.

With a flick of the wrist, a blade shot out from the Phantasm’s gauntlet, it quickly finding its way into Batman’s side as the Phantasm struggled free of the chokehold. Clutching his wound, Batman staggered about, gritting his teeth as if that would help his profusely bleeding side. Letting loose a primal roar, he charged the Phantasm, taking out of a batarang and stabbing it into the Phantasm’s arm, severing the ligament that allowed him to use his hand. Now he couldn’t use the same trick twice.

The Phantasm clutched his arm, crying out in pain as he pulled the batarang from his wound. He tried to flex his fingers, but to no avail. That brief pause in the action was all Batman needed to secure the win. Tackling his opponent to the ground, he began to whale on him, blooding his knuckles on the Phantasm’s mask while he pinned his arms down with his knees. Breathing heavily, hands trembling slightly, Batman picked himself up to his full height, vertigo flooding his senses as he suddenly became aware of just how much blood he had lost.

“Ladies and gentleman,” said Batman, his voice dripping with all the menace he could muster, “for years you have festered in the shadows, away from a world that thought you gone. Today the ends. I will hunt each one of you down. I will bring each one of you to justice. I will finish what was started all those years ago. From now on, none of you are safe.”

**GOTHAM CITY - BEAUMONT MANSION - MASTER BEDROOM - June 1st, 1955**

_Back then…_

The soft sound of music wafted through the halls of the house, it’s upbeat and jovial sounds a stark contrast to that the house’s inhabitants. Gathered around his bedside, the friends and family of Maxwell Beaumont, keeping him company as his lease on life got smaller by the second. His daughter, Andrea Beaumont, laid beside him, crying into his woolen clothes and she tried in vain to prepare herself for the wretched event to come. Her father was about to die, and although they had known it was bound to happen for quite some time, given his condition, it didn’t make it any easier.

Maxwell lifted his trembling head, an effort just to pick it up, and rubbed his daughter’s head.

“Please, my love, don’t cry.”

Her crying didn’t cease.

“You’ll be alright without me.” said Maxwell, a thin, but warm, smile struggled to come together onto his drawn face, “I promise. You’re a strong girl, just like I raised you to be. And you want to know how I know that?”

Maxwell entered a coughing fit, his hacking sounds only making it more apparent the end was near.

“I’m alright.”

Andrea lifted her head up, exposing her beat red and watering eyes.

“I’m not strong, daddy. I’m just not. I’m weak and selfish.”

“And why do you say that?”

“Because… because, I said no to you. About Hydra. I put my own wants before yours because I’m selfish and I’m only selfish because I’m weak.”

“Honey, I don’t think it works that way.”

“I will go forward with the Grand Plan, daddy. That’s what you want. I will be strong for you.”

A frown etched itself onto her father's face as a sadness overtook his drooping eyes.

“I love you, Andrea.”

His eyes closed, one final breath escaping his lips.

**GOTHAM CITY - WAYNE MANOR - June 1st, 1955**

_Back then…_

Underneath the pale glow of the moonlight walked Andrea Beaumont walked towards the gothic castle that was Wayne Manor, savoring the bitter chill of the night air against her skin, even taking pleasure in it as his numbed her face. As she neared closer to the front entrance, the warm glow of the light shined through the windows and onto her skin, casting eerie shadows onto her person. Making her way to front stoop, Andrea knocked on the beautifully crafted oak doors, only managing one knock before she was met by the smiling face of her fiance, Bruce Wayne.

“Andrea!” smiled Bruce, “What brings you here.”

“I--”

“Where are my manners, come in.”

Bruce open up the door all the way, allowing his beautiful fiance entrance into their soon to be home.

“Bruce--”

“Drink? Non-alcoholic of course, since Alfred is home.”

“I--”

“Or I could get you some of the good stuff? Could be fun sneaking that past Alfred.”

“Bruce!” shouted Andrea.

“What is it?”

“I’m calling off the engagement.”

“What.”

“I said I’m calling off the engagement.”

“But… we…”

“I’m sorry.”

Andrea turned on her heel, running out of the mansion as fast as she had entered it, away from the light and into the dark. The door slammed shut behind her.

Fury engulfed Bruce’s mind, a primal roar emanating from him as he let loose his anger upon everything that surrounded him, topping shelves and bookcases and bloodying his fists on anything he could get them onto. As Alfred rushed down the stairs after having heard what had and was transpiring, he found Bruce relentlessly assaulting a wall, the cavity he has created from his hits speckled with the blood that was dripping from both his hands.

“Alfred!” screamed Bruce, having heard him come down the stairs.

“Call and tell them to prepare the fucking jet.”

“Master Bruce, please, I beg of you, try and catch her before--”

“Did I stutter!?”

“No, sir, you did not.”

“I’m leaving tonight, Alfred.”

“Where are you going?”

“Trip around the world. Forge myself into what I promised I’d become.”

Quietly, as to not let Bruce hear, Alfred sighed, “Oh heavens my.”

**GOTHAM CITY - GRAND GOTHAM HOTEL - MEETING ROOM - June 3rd, 1958**

_Right now…_

A bright light shone on the room, blinding everyone, accompanied by the roar of helicopters.

“Batman! Surrender yourself now!”


	5. Chapter 6

My name is Bruce Wayne. When I was 8 years old, my parents and those of my friends were shot in an alley in front of our very eyes. That day, I swore to myself that I would stop the crime that took my parents from me. To do this, I devoted my life to honing my body and mind into becoming a weapon in which to fight evil. I am vengeance. I am the night. I. AM. BATMAN. 

\-----

He is vengeance.

He is the night.

But he’s still only human.

\-----

**GOTHAM CITY - GRAND GOTHAM HOTEL - MEETING ROOM - June 3rd, 1958**

The light blared into the meeting room of the Grand Gotham Hotel, blinding everyone inside, accompanied by the deafening roar of the helicopter turbines. Attempting to shield himself, Batman raised his hand in front of his eyes, squinting as he tried to get a good look at the GCPD helicopters hovering just outside the shattered glass window. His face contorted into a snarl, followed by a low growl as he eyed the officers.

“Batman! This is GCPD. Lie face down on the ground and place your hands behind your head!” a voice commanded over the speaker. 

There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. If he even so much as blinked he would be littered with bullets before he could think to react. Batman gripped his wound tighter, trying to focus on the pain, something to give his mind clarity in this desperate hour. It proved fruitless though. His mind was simply too cloudy, too dull, from all blood he has lost. It would be miracle to escape this unscavthed. Hell, even alive at all!

Behind Batman, the crumbled heap of flesh and bone that was the Phantasm tried to pick himself up, breath ragged as if his every movement sent a new, undesirable pain through his body. Somehow, he staggered to his feet, though his knees threatened to give out at any moment and his head was pounding from what was most likely a concussion. The effort was excruciating but he pushed through it, managing to put one foot in front of the other as he limped to the skylight he had made his entrance through. Taking out an odd looking device, though not dissimilar to Batman’s grappling gun, the Phantasm pointed it at the sky, a line shooting out of it that carried him up and away.

“One last time! Get on your knees and put your hands behind your head or we’ll open fire!”

In the distance, Batman spotted the Phantasm lying against the chimney of a building, causing his eyes to widen in panic. The Phantasm couldn’t be allowed to get away. He had to act and thankfully, he’d just been given an idea on how to escape. 

Three.

Two.

One.

**GOTHAM CITY - June 3rd, 1958**

He had trained for years to overcome fear. The fear of trivial things like snakes and bugs. His own personal fear, bats. And most importantly, especially now, the fear of death, of the great big void that waits for all of us. 

Without the slightest bit of hesitation, Batman hurled himself out the window, simultaneously launching several smoke pellets into the cockpit of each helicopter. Feeling the chill of the cold Gotham air rush past his face, he remained calm, taking out his grappling gun and firing it at the building he’d seen the Phantasm flee to. With a sharp clack, the hook pierced the side of the building, the rope going tot as it did so and pulling Batman towards his destination.

‘ _ Okay, _ ’ thought Batman, ‘ _ time to try something new. _ ’

If he simply climbed up onto the building, as he would usually do, he’d be spotted instantly by the Phantasm, giving him the precious few moments to get a head start and potentially escape. However, if he released the hook just before he reached the edge, he could use his momentum, along with his cape, to glide to wherever he wanted. In this case, onto the Phantasm. If he failed though, made the slightest mistake, his opponent would get away, and Batman wasn’t sure when he’d be able to find them again.

Batman took a deep breath to calm his nerves. He has just hurled himself out a building without a second though, but this? This was new. Untested. Unpracticed. And failure would rob him of such good a chance he’d be likely to never get one so good again. 

Releasing the hook, Batman felt the rope go limp and gravity begin to assert it’s dominance over his body. With a roar that could easily be mistaken for an animal’s, he spread out his cape, giving him the appearance of a bat. The air caught itself underneath his would-be bat wings and carried him upwards, causing a small sigh of relief to escape from his lips. 

Gliding up into the sky, Batman gazed upon the city he had sworn to protect. Gotham City. One of the jewels of America. But there was a rotten underbelly, so foul and corrupt and yet, no one seemed to notice it but him. And up here, so high the sky, so removed from the grit and grime that permeated the back alleys of the city, Batman couldn’t help but come to understand why, if only just a little bit. The city glistened underneath the brilliant, starlite sky, shining bright for all so see, so full of life and laughter and splendor, far from the crime-ridden metropolis that lurked just underneath the surface, threatening to break forth and reveal the city’s true colors.

Spotting the Phantasm hobbling across a nearby rooftop, Batman began to swoop in for the kill, so to speak.

Ratta-tat-tatt.   
  


The GCPD helicopters fired upon the bat, rounds illuminating the pith black sky. They littered themselves into his cape, turning it into something that resembled little more than swiss cheese. They heard the bat let lose an unearthly howl, apparently, one of the bullet had hit its mark.

Batman cracked his head against the rooftop, a wave of dizziness washing over him that disoriented the world around him to the point of being unrecognizable. Vision swimming about, Batman tried to pick himself up, managing to gain an uneasy footing, before he took off after the Phantasm. With the skill of a practiced free runner, Batman leapt from rooftop to rooftop, people looking up in wonder as they saw the shadow of a bat pass over the moon. 

Peppering the rooftops with bullet fire, the GCPD tried in vain to bring down the Batman, but as hard as they tried, they couldn’t seem to hit, always seeming to be a step behind. Upahead, Batman saw the Phantasm. He was catching. Feeling the acid in his teeth, Batman summoned the last of his reserves, pushing himself to his breaking point as he tried to catch up to opponent. With a mighty roar, Batman crossed the gap between buildings, rolling with his momentum and unleashing several batarangs at the Phantasm, who was only on the other side of the rooftop. The razor sharp blades embedded themselves into his leg, causing him to collapse into a withering pile of agony. It seems he’d reached his breaking point, finally succumbing to the many wounds inflicted upon him by the Batman.

The GCPD helicopters positioned themselves around the rooftop, unleashing a hail of bullet fire that forced Batman to find cover behind one of the chimneys. Tucking himself in as much as he could, Batman hid behind the wall of bricks, bits and pieces of it breaking  off as bullets impacted but failed to break through.. Pinned down and unable to look , Batman hoped and prayed that the Phantasm was alright, his only lead onto who killed Alfred Stryker and Marshall Lambert.

Suddenly, the Batman began to feel the roof ach and whine, like the haunting sound of creaking floorboards in the night. His eyes went wide as he realized what was happening. Jutting up from his crouched position, Batman made a break for the edge of the roof, unconcerned about the helicopters reigning death from above.

The Pilot lazily watched as the vigilante braved the deadly storm his vehicle fired.

“What’s he doing?” asked co-pilots. 

“Don’t know, maybe trying to escape.” he replied.

“He’s smarter than that.  he wouldn’t just get up like that for no reason.?”

“Not sure maybe we ought to…”

His Co-pilots questions was answered when the roof began to collapse, swallowing up both Batman and the Phantasm, sending a cloud of dust up into the sky threatening their ability to stay airborne.

“Shit!” shouted the co-pilot, “Someone call the authorities!”

“We are the authorities!” He replied gripping the yoke for dear life.

**GOTHAM CITY - COLLAPSED BUILDING - June 3rd, 1958**

“Ugh.” groaned Batman, lying prone. 

The crushing weight of the debris pressed down upon Batman, sending a white hot pain through his body that felt like his ribs were about to break but the pressure wouldn’t be relieved. The pain was agonizing, all consuming, blinding the mind from the other sensations around it as it focused so intently on one singular thing. Batman could feel the dust gather in his lungs, choking the air from him. He tried to cough it out, but to no avail. The weight on his back was simply to crushing and his pain to restricting. 

‘ _ This… _ ’ thought Batman, ‘ _ this, would be a good death. But not good enough. _ ’

Letting loose a primal roar, Batman tried to heave the debris off himself, arms trembling with the effort. He thought of the people that needed him, needed someone to protect them from the corrupt elite and scummy politicians. The people who needed something to instill fear into the hearts of criminals everywhere yet also give them hope that there would be a better tomorrow. He had to be that person and to do that, he couldn’t die here. With one final cry, Batman pushed the debris off himself.

Staggering to his feet, Batman suddenly became aware of the sights and sounds around him. Outside, people were screaming bloody murder and there was already police sirens. If the cops were here, that means people would in to look for survivors soon, giving him a finite amount of time to find and interrogate the Phantasm as well as escape.

Pushing past the piles of rubble from the collapsed roof and the resulting damage, Batman searched for the Phantasm, eventually finding them with a piece of rhubarb through his leg. Bending down, Batman clasped his hands around the Phantasm’s neck, applying just enough pressure to become uncomfortable. 

“You killed Alfred Stryker and Marshall Lambert.” growled Batman, blue eyes narrowing into slits, “Why?”

“Do you…  _ ugh _ … strangle everyone to try to…  _ ugh _ …  get to talk?” quipped the Phantasm.

Batman got closer to the Phantasm.

“Talk. Why did you kill them?”

“Don’t know what you’re…  _ ugh _ … talking about.”

“What do you mean!” 

“I ain’t ever heard…  _ ugh _ … of those people!”

Batman pressed down on the Phantasm’s wound, eliciting a cry of pain.

“Explain!”

“I was just hired to…  _ ugh _ … put on this suit and spook those guys at…  _ ugh _ … the party!”

‘ _ He’s not the real Phantasm. _ ’ Batman thought to himself, ‘ _ Who is then? _ ’

“Who’s the real Phantasm?”

“I don’t know! I swear! I was…  _ ugh _ …  just hired by some pretty redhead lady! Didn’t give…  _ ugh _ …  me a name!”

The Phantasm felt the iron handed grip of Batman leave his neck, shutting his eyes tight and putting his hands up to protect himself.

“Oh god no! Please don’t hurt me! Hey? Where’d he go?”

**GOTHAM CITY - AMBULANCE - June 3rd, 1958**

The Phantasm’s eyes flared open as he regained consciousness, eyes blinking rapidly as they adjusted to the brightly lite cabin of the ambulance. He tried to struggle free, feeling the course straps of his bonds rub against his skin as he did so, grinding away at his skin till it was raw. The Phantasm resigned himself, it becoming abundantly clear he was in so condition to break free. Lifting his head up, he looked at his surroundings. Strapped to the walls, various medical kits, each with their own label, though he was unable to make out what they said. 

“Put your head down, rest. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” cooed one of the paramedics, “You’re on your way to the hospital.”

“And don’t try anything.” said the police officer, patting his rifle.

The paramedic shot him a death stare, eyes piercing into him like daggers.

Boom. 

The medkits on the walls flew off and cabin began to do somersaults. It was all a blur. As his head began to clear he looked around. The officer’s head cracked against… something, and the paramedic went through the door window. The ambulance was a wreck. The officer was somehow still alive and attempting to move.

He heard the front door opened. Headed the driver moan, still alive the Phanstasm realized. 

He heard the sickening sound of what could only be described as someone’s throat being ripped out. He vainly tried to break free of his restraints. He heard footsteps as someone walked to the back of the ambulance.

The back doors opened, the chill of the nighttime air entering the cabin,   The Phantasm struggle against his bonds with all his remaining strength, twisting and turning desperate to escape, the fear of god coursing through his veins. The figure turned to him. Removing her mask.

“You did well,” said Andrea, “The council’s panic has increased tenfold.”

A small, nervous laugh escaped from her lips.

“Those fools are practically pissing themselves. They’ve agreed to go ahead with the Grand Plan I couldn’t have done it without you. My plans are coming to fruition. Unfortunately, you are no longer needed. You were only ever a temporary replacement. Did you really think you were going to be one of the greatest mercenaries in the world more than once? Or that you ever were good enough to pass off as one? No, you’re not. Batman is close, especially given the beating I gave him last time. Curious as to how he got out of that one. Anyway, Now its just a matter of tying off loose ends..”

Bang.

**GOTHAM CITY - WAYNE MANOR - SECRET ROOM - June 3rd, 1958**

“Ow!” yelped Bruce. 

“I’m sorry, Master Bruce, I wasn’t aware a slight jolt was enough to--”

“Point taken, Alfred.”

Alfred continued to bandage Bruce’s chest.

“Three fracture ribs, a mild concussion, and yet another stab wound to add onto your growing list of injuries. I don’t know how you do it, sir.”

“I have you, Alfred.”

A warm smile came across Bruce’s face.

“So why would she do it, Alfred? If Andrea is apart of Hydra, why would be kill two of her own members?”

“Master Bruce, you are  _ assuming _ that that man was telling the truth.”

“He didn’t have a reason to lie. For all he knew, he was about to die, which means that any threat of death that may have been held over him was null.”

“Then once again, why did Andrea kill those men?”

“I don’t know. It just doesn’t make any sense!”

“Perhaps, Master Bruce, you could simply just ask?”

“You know, that’s not such a bad idea.”

**GOTHAM CITY - ANDREA’s PENTHOUSE - June 4rd, 1958**

The moon light shone on Andrea, casting beautiful blue shadows across the messy sheets of her bed as she tossed and turned in it. Chilly night air began to waft over the bare parts of her body, sending a shiver up her spine. She pawed at her sheets to try and get them back over her, but in her sleeping state, nothing came of it. Suddenly, her covers were ripped off her, exposing her the night air and making her wake with a stutter. She looked around in the darkness, breathing heavily from her being startled. Looking at the foot of her bed, she found a pair of a eyes glistening in the shadows, the faint outline of a body evident. The shadow had a pair of pointy ears. 

“Batman?” she whispered, rubbing the crust from her eyes.

The shadows moved towards her, what looked like a cape trailing behind it. A hand reached out and grabbed her by the throat, throwing her across the room. Andrea landed with a hard thud, momentarily disoriented. The shadow swooped down upon her and held her against the wall, getting close to her face and growling…

“Andrea Beaumont, correct?”

“Who are you?” she sputtered, now very much awake.

“You know who I am.”

“Batman?” she asked once again.

“Why did you kill Alfred Stryker and Marshall Lambert?”

“What are you talking about?!”

Batman cracked her head against the wall.

“Don’t bullshit me. I know you’re the Phantasm. I know you’re apart of Hydra.”

Andrea lunged at Batman, only for him to knock her once to the ground. He picked her up, pressing a batarang against her throat.

“I’ll ask you again, why did you kill Alfred Stryker and Marshall Lambert?”

“What time is it?”

For the briefest moment, Batman was taken back. 

“The time is 2:24am.”

“ _ Heh _ . Just look out the window.”

The ground shook as the road heaved up into the air, sending cars flying high into the air. People screamed and ran, and, from the crack in the ground, emerged -- 

“I needed to make them afraid, Batman, desperate, so they would enact the Grand Plan. Having the world-renowned Phantasm killing one or two of the council members seemed like a pretty good way to do it.”

Dropping her to the ground he rushed for the window. Justice could wait. Right now he needed to save his city.

 


	6. Chapter 6

My name is Bruce Wayne. When I was 8 years old, my parents and those of my friends were shot in an alley in front of our very eyes. That day, I swore to myself that I would stop the crime that took my parents from me. To do this, I devoted my life to honing my body and mind into becoming a weapon in which to fight evil. I am vengeance. I am the night. I. AM. BATMAN.   
\-----  
It’s all come to this.  
His city is in peril.  
But can he save it?  
\-----  
GOTHAM CITY - GORDON RESIDENCE - June 4th, 1958

The chill of the night air nipped at the exposed skin of Jim Gordon’s back, making his hairs stand on end as they grasped for some degree of warmth. In his sleepy state, his pawed at his covers, a vain attempt to alleviate the biting cold he felt. When he wasn’t able to succeed, a small moan escaped his lips and he began to shuffle in the bed restlessly. With a tired groan, Jim rolled out of bed, feet pressing against the cold floor, sending shivers up his spine. He grabbed the glasses on his bed stand and pushed them onto his face, eyes blinking as they adjusted to both being open and the new focus.

Legs stiff, Jim made his way to the bathroom, holding onto the wall as he stumbled in. He flicked the light switch on, suddenly being assaulted by the bright, harsh light. He took a minute to let his eyes adjust, then shut the door behind him. Jim stood into front of the toilet and pulled his pants down to the task ahead of him.

BOOM.

‘What the hell was that?!’ thought Jim, head darting around, ‘Gotham isn’t supposed to have earthquakes.’

From outside the bathroom, Jim wife, Barbara yelled, “Jim! Jim!”

Jim ran to his screaming wife.

“What is --”

Then he saw it, the sight of the ground heaving up into the air, like something from a disaster movie except now, it was real. Real and terrifying. Buildings collapse into themselves, their fondations ripped from underneath them, throwing a cloud of dust into the air that threatened to block out the moon. Cars fell into the void suddenly opened up beneath, never to be seen again. 

And then they came, the hulking behemoths of human invention, a sight that everyone thought they would never have to be subjected to again. Their legs burst forth from the darkness and implanted themselves into the ground and up came a large, green metal head. 

The Hydra Robots.

The green monstrosities reared their heads around and unleashed hell upon the city. With the large canons situated atop their head, they let forth bolts of yellow energy that created wanton destruction. Sections of buildings collapsed under their oppressive fire, tumbling to the ground and blocking entire sections of road. Their legs left huge craters in the ground, so big that the water pipes began to burst and shoot into the ground, creating the illusion that it was raining. 

“No… no no no no no no no no.” muttered Jim.

“Honey, oh my god… it just like the war…” 

“And this time no Justice Society.”

Jim kissed his wife.

“Get the kids,” he told her, “and take them down into the basement.”

“Don’t go out there!” cried Barbara.

“Sorry, hun, kinda my job.”

GOTHAM CITY - STREET - June 4th, 1958

Ever since the night of his parents murder, Bruce Wayne had wanted nothing more than to fight the crime and corruption that polluted his city, permeated every nook and cranny of the so called jewel of america. Now, with the horrors of Hydra unleashed, the city's true colors could be made bare, finally revealed for what Bruce had seen it as all this time. For an untold amount of time, Hydra had festered in Gotham, regaining strength after their horrendous defeat at the hands of the Justice Society and now, their presence was finally made bare. Batman wished he could have found out sooner, maybe then, he would have been able to put a stop the robots from bursting forth from the ground and creating wanton destruction on the city he loved so much.

Batman glided high above the chaos that was common place on the ground, filled with mother’s clutching their children and people scrambling about, trying their damndest not to die. He had never seen a war, never seen the pain and misery that came with it, at least, not up close. Even with all the training he had underwent, from the top to bottom of the world, nothing could have prepared him for this. To see such… failure… it was like someone had thrust a white hot knife into cut and just to add insult to injury, twisted the blade. That was how he felt. Like a failure.

He shook off his feelings though, they would only get in the way. Right now, he needed to be present, in the moment, ready to snap into action at a moments notice. And then the moment came.

Amongst the carnage, a little girl cried for help, trapped underneath a large piece of debris that while it shielded her, made it incredibly hard for anyone to help her get out. Batman let his cape fall limp, gravity instantly tugging down on and sending him crashing to the ground. He felt the wind whip at his face and he savored the feeling, the rush of adrenaline that came with it. The faintest smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Batman thrust out his cape, head snapping back as he began to rapidly lose his momentum. With a soft thud, he landed to the ground.

The little girl cried out for help, her eyes watering as she tried to hold back the tears, trying to be strong, just like she was taught. She focused on that thought, that memory, of her mother telling her how to be strong when she wasn’t around. The girl didn’t quite remember what her mom said to her that day, but she recall her face. Her mother cradling her in her arms, despite the fact she may have been a bit big for it, and smiling down on her, a bright shining sun. The way her lips moved as she articulated her words and the wrinkles around the corners of her mouth. She took comfort in the thought.

Batman rushed to the girl and examined the piece of debris trapping her. 

“It’s going to be alright!” he yelled.

He bent down and set his hands underneath the rock, taking a deep a breath. Summoning every ounce of his strength, Batman tried to heave the rock off the girl, muscling spasming and veins bulging out his neck as he exerted his force of will. The rock began to budge, rising what only could have been a centimeter off the ground before it plopped right back down. It was too heavy. 

“Batman!”

Batman whipped his head around to find two police officers stood behind him, guns drawn.

“Get on the ground!”

“There’s a girl trapped under there. I can’t get it off her by myself!” growled Batman, eyes narrowing into slits.

“Don’t care!”

“What the hell do you two thing you’re doing!” shouted Jim Gordon, running towards the scene.

“It’s the Bat-Man, sir!”

“And I give a shit because! Look around! Get out there and help!”

The two officers did as they were told.

“You said there was a girl trapped under there?” asked Jim, turning to face Batman.

“I can’t get her out of there by myself.”

With a heavy sigh, Jim rolled up his sleeves, ready to get to work.

Together, the pair of men positioned themselves against the rock.

“On the count of three…” said Jim, “One… two… three!”

Together, they tried to heave the rock into the air and off the girl. Their muscles twitched and spasmed with the effort they were exerting, brows furrowed. As the rock began to lift into the air, the little girl trapped underneath eyes lit up with joy, elatlleted at her rescue. She scurred out from underneath the thing that had been trapping her for so long as threw herself into her savior's arms… Batman?

Batman flinched slightly when the girl pressed her body against his and wrapped her arms around. His body stood stiff and he looked at Jim, not knowing what to do. The girl squeezed him tighter. Batman’s hand hovered over the girl, as if he was debating whether or not to reciprocate the gesture. Slowly, he melted into the hug, gingerly wrapping his arms around the girl.

“Everything is going to be alright.” said Batman, voice gruff.

Jim walked over to the girl and took her by the shoulder.

“Do you know where your parents are, sweety?” he said, giving her a warm smile.

Jim took the girl away, motioning to Batman to leave.

GOTHAM CITY - WAYNE MANOR - June 3rd, 1958

Alfred watched in horror as cracks began to envelop the vaulted ceiling of Wayne Manor, the once sturdy roof suddenly a breath away from coming crashing down on top of him. The air filled with low whining sound, perhaps the first indication things were about to fall apart? Alfred didn’t want to find out, quickly making his way towards the secret room Bruce had constructed for his use as Batman, of which had a reinforced structure. 

He pressed his hand against the wall till he heard a sharp click, then slid the wall open to reveal the hidden room. The phone began to ring.

“Hello?” asked Alfred, picking up the receiver.

“Alfred! Is everything alright?!” shouted Batman.

“Master Bruce, why are you shouting?”

“It’s a damn warzone out here! Hydra unleashed their robots onto the city! I’m going to try to stop them but I don’t know if I can!”

“Oh heavens my…”

The leathery face old man took a step back. 

“Bruce, how are you going to stop them?”

There was a pause.

“I don’t know.” said Batman.

GOTHAM CITY - STREET - June 4th, 1958

Early morning…

Batman stumbled through the rubble that now covered the streets of Gotham City, his sleep weary eyes struggling to focus. He had been up all night, desperately trying to find a way to shut down the monolithic robots that now patrolled the city. His first instinct was to try to break into one of them, get a look at their inner workings and find some way to disable them based on that. Scaling the robots while under fire had proven to difficult however. The next idea he had was to find some sort of compound that he could trace back to a single location. This had had some success, and was currently the plan he was pursuing.

The ground began to tremble, instantly sending a rush of adrenaline rocking through Batman’s veins. Hydra robots were coming. Head darting around, Batman looked for a place to hide, eyes eventually landing on a small nook between two large pieces of debris leaned against each other. He dived into the cover and held up his cape, instantly melting into the shadows. Nestled in the tight space, Batman felt his every breath against his knee, hot and warm. His ears rung with the sound of his heart beat and he tried to steady it, to control his emotions. Batman took a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth. The trembling stopped, signal that the robots had passed.

Batman let down his cape, the soft morning light working its way to his eyes as he peered out the nook. Slowly, he moved his head around, carefully scanning the area as he checked to make sure the coast was clear, which it was. With a loud groan, Batman uncurled his body, wearily stretching out his limbs as he entered the ruins of Gotham. 

A thin smile etched itself across Batman’s face as he saw the large indents left in the ground from the march of the Hydra robots. He had been looking for something to trace back to a single location and now, he may have just found it. With all the speed he could muster, Batman ran to the pits, his tattered cape flowing behind him. Unlike the previous dents left by the robots, this time there had been a visible residue left behind, the very thing that Batman had been looking for. He kneeled down beside it, wiping a layer of muck from his tattered utility belt before pulling out a forensics kit he had stashed away. Using one of the cotton swabs, he lapped up a murky looking liquid and brought it to his nose, giving it a quick sniff. The scent made his eyes burn and he broke out into a fit of hacking, though it quickly subsided. With deft hands, Batman took out a PH strip and tested the liquid. 

‘Just like I thought,’ mused Batman, ‘there’s only one place in Gotham that can produce something this acidic.’ 

Ace Chemical Factory.

GOTHAM CITY - ACE CHEMICAL FACTORY - June 4th, 1958

Midday…

The monstrosity that was Ace Chemical Factory loomed in the distance, sitting high atop of an island just off the show of the city. Smoke billowed from it’s impressive stacks, filling the air with the pungent smell of burning chemicals and… whatever horrors were going on in there. A long bridge connected the factory to the mainland, the entrance to which was guarded by two guards, of whom wore a green plated armor and carried some futuristic looking rifles that had a blue, glowing center. From his perch atop the crumbling ruins of a building, Batman eyed them carefully, devising the best way to take them down in his exhausted state.

Slowly, Batman crawled down the wall, landing with a soft thud against the singed grass. He steadied himself, taking a deep breath before slowly creeping around to behind the guards. His footsteps were soft against the ruined ground, almost imperceptible… almost.

One of the guards ears perked up, causing him to slowly turn his around and discover the Batman looming just behind. He shouted to his friend and the pair quickly opened fire. On instinct, Batman dived to the nearest cover, tucking his head down and unsheathing several batarangs. The guards moved closer, going in for the kill, only to met with batarangs to the chest. They stumbled about, dazed by the attack, though their armor had prevented them from being seriously hurt. Taking the opportunity, Batman tackled one of the guards to ground and his smashed his fist against the guard’s mask till it cracked open. The other guard came up behind Batman and pulled him off his friend, throwing him against the ground and starting to kick him in the gut.

Helpless on the ground, Batman began to be pummeled by the two guards. Curling up, legs held tight against his chest and his arms shielding his head, he tried to weather the beating being dealt to him. Blow after blow, the men threatened to break bone, or worse, open up an old wound. His costume offering no protection, it being nothing more than fabric, his body eventually gave in, yet another bone fracturing underneath the powerful blows.

And then nothing.  
\-----  
GOTHAM CITY - ACE CHEMICAL FACTORY - June 4th, 1958

Arcs of pain shot through Batman’s body, his muscles seizing up and convulsing as he was brought to a abrupt awakening. His eyes shot open, suddenly being overwhelmed by a bright light that shone down on top of him. Batman began to blink rapidly, letting his eyes adjust to the light. Slowly, the figure before him came into focus, revealing itself to be that of a slender woman.

“Andrea…” moaned Batman.

She slapped him across the face.

“You failed, Batman.”

Batman lurched forward, but came to a sudden halt as his chains pulled back on him.

“Not yet!” he bellowed, eyes ablaze with a fire so few people could muster.

“Look around you… You’re tied up. You’ve been going for almost twelve hours. You’re wounded in several places. There. Is. NOTHING. You. Can. Do!”

“You can’t take over Gotham. At least not for long.”

“And why is that?”

“Because he’ll stop you.”

“The big blue boyscout? He’ll be busy saving everyone else.”

“And how do know that?”

“Because he always saves everyone.”

“He’s never come up against something like this. Hell, he’s only been around since January. Are you certain you know how he’ll react?”

“I know that he can’t be everywhere at once. After we’re done preparing the rest of the bots here. Bam! Everywhere all at once! Metropolis. Paris. London. Central City. Latveria! Hell, we even have a plan to take down the damn God of Thunder!”

“Thank you.”

Suddenly, Batman burst forward from his chains, having inexplicably freed himself from his confines and lurched at Andrea. With a cold, unblinking stare, she knocked him across the head and watched as he cracked his head against the ground.

“Too slow.”

She kneeled down next to Batman.

“And to late.”

A television screen blared to life in front of his eyes and held within it, an image that rocked Batman to his very core. He had in fact, been to late. On the screen before him, he witnessed robots burst from the ground in every major city across the world, terrorizing the people the scattered beneath their monolithic bodies.

“Turns out going for, what, at least fifteen plus hours without sleep while exerting yourself isn’t that conducive to saving your city.”

Batman couldn’t save the world alone, and luckily, he won’t have to.

To be continued in Justice League #1!


End file.
